| 9:20p |
I love Paris in the springtime! Except its New York, in the Winter.
There comes a point in everyones life where they must ask themselves, "have I ever bought gifts for people and then had to ship them to a relatively remote island off the coast of Scotland?" and generally, most people will say they have not. Mister Thomas Jones, age 22, has however. He enjoys is so much, that in fact Christmas is his favorite holiday of the year. He dances down the street singing Christmas carols and is regularly joined by other New Yorkers in well choreographed fanfare. Except. The only thing that is true to Thomas in this entire fantasy would be the fact that every year around this time he has to deal with 3 different shippers to get packages to his family on Christmas time. Yes, it would be easier if he just flew there, but last year flying there really stretched his budget.... and as much as he loves kidney pie....
Thomas looked upwards as he felt something on his hair. It was snowing. Looking back down at his list scribbled onto a legal pad, he couldn't help but give a small sigh of relief. Winters in the North Atlantic were much harsher than the mild snow drifts and delicate wind chills he experience here in the states. No waves crashing against your city streets, spewing freezing water that solidifies on your car... which is then covered in snow... and then more ice... and then a layer of packing snow just because you really could spare two hours in the morning chipping away at your vehicle. OK, Back to the list. So to the best of his knowledge, things looked as if they were complete. The last minute shopping he had to do because of a failed soiree into Loehmanns seemed a faint memory as his heart skipped with glee at the prospect of being done.
And by skipped, someone ran into him and his feet skipped up over his head.
Looking back on the situation, which he apparently had time to do, it probably looked embarrassing. Skinny bescpeckled kid in a dated argyle jacket... walking down the street with his face buried in papers. Then some soddy New York brute runs into him, probably on his way to get to a hot dog vendor. At any rate, so he was here. Lying. In the snow. On his back.
It was cold.
As Thomas looked around, thankfully there didnt seem to be many other people on the street this evening. He scooped his fallen belongings closer to his body and layed there, perhaps dreaming of a nice quiet village on some far away Scottish isle... with no New Yorkers. No noise pollution. No light pollution. No pollution at all, actually.
Sometimes you just need to lay around for a while and appreciate things. |